The Faded River
The rain hit the canvas. It drummed a hollow rhythm against your back. You walked. You counted the steps. One. Two. Three. The mud sucked at your boots. It was thick. It was cold. You were moving. You were still moving. The road was a grey line. It cut through the field. The field was dead. The grass was flat. The sky was low. You carried the pack. It was heavy. It held your tools. Your...
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